Column: Stuart Maconie
No more gym misery for Maconie: set the controls for the heart of the sun (or as far as 1000 miles takes you).
AJOURNEY OF 1000 miles begins with single step,” said Lao Tzu, decanting some egg noodle soup into his Thermos, I like to think. I write this in the early days of 2019, which, like the dawn of any new year, are a time to ponder new starts and blank slates. The world is a tabula rasa, bright with possibilities. “New Year, New You,” proclaim the adverts. Gym membership rockets, only to fall away again by February, which is spent eating stuffed crust meat feast (extra cheese) on the settee watching Luther.
However, gym membership is not a journey of self-loathing I ever intend to inflict on myself again. I have ‘put that down’, as self-help books would say. I loathe gyms; the horrid music and ghastly videos. I hate never having a pound for the lockers. I hate the lighting. I hate those grey balls that look like Rover from The Prisoner and I especially hate the running machines which offer all the sweaty exertion of a brisk walk but without any of the associated and crucial pleasure of birdsong, fresh air, sky, clouds or even just the vista of your local park and shops.
So thanks, o Lycra-swathed personal trainer, but I’ll stick to the brisk walk, and my intention is to do one every day. I’m starting as I mean to go on, and this year, starting as one means to go on is helped immeasurably by this magazine’s # walk1000miles challenge. If you’ve done this before, you’ll know how good it makes you feel; fitter, slimmer, brighter-eyed and bushier-tailed, better-slept and lower of blood pressure. Both in the magazine and online you can find loads of testimonials from happy walkers taking part in it, and you even get a wall-chart too, which makes it feel like the World Cup has come early.
So have I started as I mean to go on? Yes. Like Lao Tzu, I’ve started my journey of 1000 miles with several single steps in the quiet countryside of Buckinghamshire (well, he might not have started in Buckinghamshire, but you get the point). New Year’s Day found me in the Chilterns, a place I’ve been meaning to explore for yonks (technical term) but have only ever really glimpsed while passing though that huge chalky cutting on the M40, from where it has always looked attractive and eminently ‘doable’.
Having nipped up as my first walk of 2019, I can now recommend the view from Coombe Hill. At 852 feet, it’s the highest viewpoint in the Chilterns, looking out over the Vale of Aylesbury, the hill comprises of 106 acres gifted to the National Trust after the Great War by generous local bigwigs Lord and Lady Lee of Fareham. They were clearly in beneficent mood with the coming of peacetime as you can see another of their prezzies to the nation from the summit. The estate of Chequers was their gift to the country as a retreat for the serving prime minister, and it can be seen nestled in lovely grounds to the east. Students of history and politics might also want to linger by the huge monument too, dedicated to the men of Buckinghamshire who gave their lives in the Boer War – though on a raw January day with a mild hangover and slightly recalcitrant toddler with a runny nose and red cheeks, the warmth of the valley soon began to appeal.
Different landscapes have subtly different characters and moods. The Chilterns are rolling and gentle, wooded and mysterious in a different way to the sometimes savage darkness of the Lake District or the opaque and indifferent moors of the Pennines. And even if the landscape hadn’t told me, the hearty rugger songs in the village pub and twenty quid for a caramelised onion tart would gave told me I wasn’t up north or the Midlands, my usual stomping grounds.
Closer to home, I’ve discovered the delights of The Leasowes, a little parcel of genteel beauty just off the No.9 bus route to Halesowen. More of that as the year unfolds. In the meantime, here’s to Lao Tzu and to getting quite a few of those steps under our collective belts in 2019.